


Walls and gates

by WahlBuilder



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Politics, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Tragedy comes to Noctis, and the city must deal with it.





	Walls and gates

Melvin doesn’t think it’s a quake, when he hears the sound.

He thinks Abundance has come.

He would remember that thought so sharply—unlike the blur of the next hours that both drag on and fly fast.

Abundance has come.

He sees Orion rushing past, then Orion looks right at him, and shouts, ‘Find _Paon_!’

‘Who is it? Abundance?’ He would remember whispering it, but it seems he shouted it—because Orion replied.

‘No! Ours!’

***

The great market, the main Palatial stairs, the levels above, gantries, galleries, roofs—all are full of people. Silent.

Dandolo stands on the first landing of the stairs, empty space around him—to allow _Nibbio_ and Elena, who are standing slightly behind Dandolo, place to work.

‘It is with a heavy mind…’ Dandolo stops, lowering his head, lips thin, fingers like claws.

_Nibbio_ and Elena holding their hands in the air, looking at the Prince, ready to continue signing. Emotions flicking over _Nibbio’s_ face, Elena’s impassive.

Noctis waits as their Prince composes himself.

‘People,’ Dandolo starts again, and his voice is sure, his words are sure, ‘come to Noctis for a variety of reasons. Seeking adventure, an exchange of goods and ideas, seeking protection. A decent life. They flee their cities of birth not because they are traitors or because there is some,’ he looks sharply at several particular faces in the gathering, ‘plot to “replace” those born in Noctis. They flee because life in their cities of birth is unbearable. Impossible. And we won’t fail them. We were refugees once also—we, too, had no place to call home. Noctis won’t close its gates. And, as Noctis started from the Caravanserail and the Palace, the refugees, those in transit or those in the middle of settlement, will be moved to the Palace. If you please, Noctis.’

Noctis is quiet—then a voice that isn’t usually heard at such time of day says, ‘Noctis is pleased, _nostro Doxe_.’ And Orion nods slightly.

More voices of assent fly up.

Dandolo makes a move to go—there is much to do—but then stops, and looks at the gathering again, lingering at each face.

‘Most of those I know here,’ Dandolo says, ‘speak at least three languages. Don’t let one of them be a language of hate and division. Kindness is not unwise and is not a weakness.’

***

While Orion’s mechanics are sweeping the area for more explosives and assessing the damage, Melvin takes his unit to help the Guard relocate the refugees into the Palace. Many need psychological help.

The bomb has been detonated close to a canyon wall, which held firm, but the scaffolding that made the small square in the middle of the refugee camp has been badly corrugated.

The _medeghi_ are already in the Palace, sending some of the relocated refugees into the hospital where the immediate victims are already cared for, and provide help on-site. Melvin’s unit is taking witness accounts, too, although the investigation promises to be straightforward: a radicalised loner with an explosive device made from materials obtained both legally and brought in illegally.

Four people are dead.

Eight are injured.

Melvin knows the consequences won’t be as straightforward: the terrorist shouted ‘Noctis first!’ before detonating the bomb. Neighbours of the suspect confirm that he expressed such views weeks before the tragedy.

There will be blood, Melvin knows. Not on the streets (he hopes not), but in the Council.

The Prince calls for another Council meeting deep in the night—and everyone knows who are the people the invitation is aimed for.

Melvin has caught only glimpses of Dandolo after the address, busy, in the middle of things, everywhere at once: speaking with the shocked people, the wounded, talking with the mechanics, the Guard…

Dandolo must be furious.

Melvin goes to the Prince’s balcony.

There are people he both expected to show up and thought they wouldn’t (the traces of Abundance in him tell him they wouldn’t take the responsibility—the knowledge of Noctis tells him they might): Temake, Julius, Veron—the three voices that say ‘Noctis first!’ the loudest.

There are their supporters, too—but others also: the three Witnesses; Fran, their shoulders drooping; Orion, scowling at the Noctis First party openly, his hand gripping a wrench like a weapon. There is a smear of dust on his cheek.

Melvin expects to find Dandolo—but doesn’t see him. Only when the gathering is filled with murmurs, does the Prince appear. No, not the Prince, Melvin corrects himself. Dandolo. Running up the stairs.

It’s the fourth watch, the time when a caravan would be deeply asleep, and so very cold—but Dandolo is only wearing the vest part of a tunic, the sleeves removed, and steam is rising off his skin. He must have been at the site of the explosion again.

And he is raging. The green eyes are smoldering: when he turns them onto the Noctis First group, Melvin is surprised they don’t combust. Probably only because Dandolo is holding back. His gaze is so heavy they should be crumbling to dust.

One of the three starts: ‘He has no connection—’

‘I don’t care,’ Dandolo says quietly, weariness making his voice heavy, too, ‘for your excuses. People _died_ there, four people—and that’s four more than enough. And others are injured, scared, traumatised. Your rhetoric is poisoning the minds, and if the injured, the family and friends of the deceased, the _murdered_ , decide to bring you to court, I will understand. The Plaque condemning hate speech exists, Councillors.’

Julius barks, ‘A threat? Have you decided to turn a dictator?’

Dandolo closes his eyes briefly. ‘File a complaint with the Guard if you have such concerns.’

‘Everyone knows that the Guard is in your pocket!’

‘Ah,’ Fran calls in a sweet, sweet voice, ‘do they, now? That’s news for the Guard’s Chief, you f—’ They glance quickly at Dandolo, then back at the three, ‘you _Councillors_.’

‘They take our jobs!’ Temake, the younger of the three, exclaims.

‘Then we will create more,’ Dandolo replies evenly. ‘The surge of people means more need for services—there, the jobs.’

‘They take resources!’

‘How dare you!’ Though the sentiment is powerful, the tone is quiet, and it rings in the Palace. Temake shrivels under Dandolo’s gaze. ‘How dare you speak of people as though things, how dare you imply that providing them with necessities is a waste of resources.’

‘Your wastefulness and alien-loving—’

‘My mother was a refugee!’

Silence. Dandolo doesn’t raise his voice for these words either. His fists are clenched. Melvin wants to be by his side, offer his arm so that Dandolo could lean on it.

‘My mother came here seeking a better life, and sold himself into servitude, and he was a good pilot, and didn’t return through the Red Gates. I will not allow mistreatment of people who have no alternative. They all are Noctians—if you remember what being a Noctian means.’

‘You can’t keep the gates of Noctis open!’

‘I will. We will.’

‘Then expect more of the incidents like today.’

Silence once more. And Melvin has never seen anyone go ashen so fast as the Councillor does.

Dandolo is completely still.

‘Is this a threat, Councillor?’ Equanimity asks. ‘Because it sounded like one. And it has been Witnessed, mind.’

Veron gasps. ‘I will… I wasn’t…’

‘I propose this meeting to come to a close,’ Dandolo offers wearily. ‘Since we are all emotions now. We’ll gather later, Noctis. We all are tired.’

The balcony empties out.

Melvin goes to Dandolo.

Dandolo opens the last, topmost, buttons on the slit of his skirt—carefully, not yanking them, because the skirt is hours of someone’s work and Dandolo wouldn’t waste those hours. He probably knows the tailor by name. Then Dandolo sits down on an ottoman—heavy—and, when Melvin comes close, leans to his thigh.

‘Is it that dictatorship is the only way, _Corvo_?’ Dandolo asks quietly. The steam has faded—he must be getting cold.

Melvin plants his feet firmly, to bear the weight of Dandolo’s heavy head, then touches Dandolo’s braids, his shoulder uncovered by cloth. Warm.

‘Perhaps. But I will stop you if I see you attempting it.’

‘Thank you, my love.’ Dandolo sighs. ‘I’m so tired of this. There is no end to it, it’s like fighting a dust devil: I am only getting myself skinned. I cannot fathom how, by what way of thinking, someone can decide, can even _conceive_ that people should be left out on our threshold. Yes, resources are limited—but it means we will adjust our production and consumption, that’s all. The UNM Declaration confirms the rights to shelter, and sustenance, and humane treatment, and dignity—but, oh spirits, people are just numbers and the colour of their skin and the language they speak, to some—just look at the wars between the _Fraglie_. And how am I better? I need to keep the _Fraglie_ attention away from Noctis—because there is a significant chance they might kill us all just because they can.’

Dandolo sighs again, and his arm reaches around Melvin’s waist. ‘Forgive me for this… exercise in rhetoric. Spirits. I am unfit for this duty.’

‘Noctis would disagree.’

‘Noctis isn’t always right. I am so ashamed, _Corvo_ ,’ Dandolo whispers, his voice reduced by anguish—and Melvin knows what’s coming. ‘It’s my fault.’

‘Had Orion heard you now, he would have thrown a wrench, and I would have stepped away.’

Dandolo looks up at him, face open—not the Prince but simply Dandolo. ‘But it _is_ my fault. I am the face of Noctis, its hands—’

‘And you will work days and nights to make sure this tragedy doesn’t repeat itself,’ Melvin says firmly, moves a hand to dig lightly into Dandolo’s left shoulder where, hidden from view under the tunic, the Mark is. ‘The Council will come up with new legislations, we will visit the injured and make sure the refugees are settling well in the Palace. I’ll keep an eye on Father Bastard—’

Dandolo smiles.

‘—in case he decides it’s a good opportunity to crank up the proselytising. The investigation will proceed and, if needed, all the relevant persons will be dragged into court, by my own hand.’

‘They call you my lapdog, you know.’

‘I think I’m more of a lapcat, but Noctis has a complex relationship with animals, considering I am also a bird.’

Dandolo smiles—softer, lighter, then rests his forehead on Melvin’s stomach. ‘Thank you. I feel not as powerless now.’

‘We will find ways to sort this through, together, as a city. If you please.’

‘I am pleased.’

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to my comrades! <3


End file.
